Chapter 29 Raven #3
“Almost there, lass!” Solaris calls out, his brogue thicker than I’ve ever heard it, cracking with emotion. “One more push! Ye can do this!”
“It’s beautiful,” Corvus breathes, his voice awed, the war drake nowhere to be found in that soft utterance. Just a male watching new life enter the world. “Gods, it’s beautiful.”
“Come on, Raven,” Keir urges, his voice rough. “You’ve got this. You’ve got this.”
“Push!” Hemlocke yells, his deep voice joining the chorus.
I bear down with everything I have. The world narrows to this single moment—the pressure, the pain, the desperate need to bring this new life into the world.
My roar shakes the cavern walls, sending stalactites crashing into the water, filling the air with the sound of stone meeting stone.
Finlay’s warmth floods through me, his healing energy surging to match my effort, and I feel impossibly supported. Impossibly loved.
And then—release.
After what feels like forever, I feel the egg slide free.
The pressure vanishes. The discomfort evaporates like morning mist. I collapse against the warm sand, my chest heaving, my entire body trembling with exhaustion and relief.
The grains press into my scales, warm and grounding, the heat of the earth seeping into my spent muscles.
Silence fills the chamber.
Then—
“It’s perfect.” Solaris’s voice is barely above a whisper, thick with emotion I’ve never heard from the ancient dragon. “Absolutely perfect.”
Solaris and Corvus carry the egg between them, cradling it carefully as they bring it up to me.
Their hands meet beneath its weight, working together with an ease that speaks to their bond—not just with me, but with each other.
Brothers in every way that matters. The war drake handles the egg with the same care he would give a wounded comrade, his silver eyes soft in a way his enemies would never believe possible.
The egg is beautiful.
Obsidian black and glossy, nearly three feet in length, its massive form dwarfs everything around it.
Faint iridescent swirls dance across the shell, catching the bioluminescent light and scattering it like captured stars.
The shell is smooth, perfect, unmarred by any crack or blemish.
Warmth radiates from it, a gentle heat that pulses like a tiny heartbeat, steady and strong.
It takes both Solaris and Corvus to carry it, their muscles straining beneath the weight of new life.
They set it in the sand before me, and I see the way each of them looks at it. The naked longing on their faces. The desperate hope that this child—this miracle we created together—carries a piece of them.
Hemlocke edges closer, his pink eyes fixed on the egg with an intensity that makes his whole body tremble. His nostrils flare as he scents it, trying to detect any hint of his own lineage in its makeup. His weight shifts from foot to foot, restless, eager.
Keir kneels beside it, so close I could reach out and touch him. His stormy gray eyes shimmer with unshed tears, his hands pressed flat against his thighs as if he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out. The longing on his face breaks something inside me.
Solaris steps back, giving me space, but I see the way his gaze lingers on the egg.
The way his jaw works as he swallows whatever emotion is threatening to spill over.
Centuries of life, and he’s never had a child.
Never allowed himself this hope. And now it sits before him, black and beautiful and full of possibility.
Corvus hovers at the edge of the group, his silver eyes darting between the egg and me. His fingers twist together in front of him, betraying his nerves. The war drake looks stripped bare in this moment, all his walls down, nothing but raw hope and fierce love visible on his usually guarded face.
And Finlay—Finlay hasn’t moved from my head, his hands still pressed against my scales.
But his eyes are fixed on the egg with a burning intensity that rivals his inner fire.
His breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and I feel the tremor in his palms. If there’s flame inside that shell, he’ll know. He’ll feel it calling to his own.
I lower my head and sniff at the egg, drawing the scent deep into my lungs.
Sea salt and jasmine—my scent, woven into the shell like a signature. The warm, comforting note of pregnancy hormones. The mineral tang of the volcanic sand. And beneath it all, threaded through the egg like veins of gold through black marble—
I know.
I know exactly who the father is.
A soft purr escapes my lips, the sound rumbling through my chest and vibrating the sand beneath me.
My dragoness settles completely for the first time in days, content and fiercely proud.
The scent is unmistakable—woven into the shell, into the life growing inside.
Every breath I take confirms it, reinforcing the truth that my body recognized before my mind could catch up.
The tension in the chamber is palpable. Five males, five hopeful hearts, all waiting for a sign. Waiting to know if this child is theirs.
But I’m too tired to speak. Too exhausted to form the words that would end their suspense. And part of me—a small, selfish part—wants to hold onto this moment a little longer. This moment where they’re all fathers. Where the possibility exists for each of them.
My eyes drift shut.
I’ll tell them when I wake. I’ll tell them who sired this precious life we created together. But for now, in this warm cocoon of sand and steam and the scent of my mates surrounding me, I let sleep claim me.
A nap feels amazing right now.